


Orange Line Attraction

by merrabeth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, i dunno, there's a lotta swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrabeth/pseuds/merrabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Mickey and Ian meet on the train</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orange Line Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> This may be a bit OOC but...I just...well...I was on the train today and and....ok

Mickey knew he was dead and probably by the most unlikely person- well, maybe not that unlikely.

And as he slouched in his handicap designated seat on the train, he looked more upset than scared. The drug deal had gone haywire. And he knew his dad would give him hell for handing over the drugs before the guy gave him the money. And he wouldn’t allow the cops coming and Mickey running as an excuse for not getting his money. Mickey Milkovich was thoroughly fucked.

And it was probably safe to say that the loud group of teenagers making their way onto the cart he was on wasn’t helping. But they noticed him, and they made sure not to look too long. This prissy bunch could tell Mickey wasn’t in the mood for any shit. But he quickly shut them out when the train continued its journey.

Maybe he could just hide out for a couple days somewhere. Mandy’s aunt was pretty cool about letting Mandy hide out, and she’d shown a lot more favoritism for the youngest Milkovich kids opposed to the older ones, maybe because they had some type of sense that the others weren’t able to grasp on to.

But no, he couldn’t go there. Terry would catch on. And even though his aunt had the shotgun and the icy threat, that was a shitload of coke that Mickey had fucked with. It was supposed to be the premium kind, too. He was just gonna have to track the guy down. And he couldn’t go back home until he’d beaten the money out of the joker.

Mickey chewed on his lip as he contemplated. The train had stopped and opened the doors unceremoniously. But holy shit what walked through those doors was a sight to behold.

A red head, but his hair looked more orange and fiery. He wore a white beater that clung to his torso, the mid-summer Chicago humidity coating his freckle covered skin in a subtle sheen of sweat. His shorts hung low on his hips, making a clear shape of his ass and stopping right at the knees.

Mickey looked him up and down involuntarily, letting sink in every muscle that was wrapped tightly in his pale skin. He stayed by the door, leaning against the window that acted as a shield between the handicap seats and the entrance of the train. He stood on the opposite end of the cart, and yet Mickey could see perfectly. It wasn’t until his eyes finally wandered up, finally meeting his green eyes that he’d noticed he’d been staring; and the red head noticed, too.

Mickey turned away quickly, keeping a façade as if he hadn’t been blatantly checking out the modern-time Adonis on the other side of the cart. That’s when he realized he hadn’t been the only one aware of this guy’s glaring beauty. The group of teenage girls that had been babbling just seconds before seem to come to a hush as they talked quietly about the gorgeous man standing mere inches from him. They must’ve been staring because the guy glanced over at them with a smile, and Mickey couldn’t hold back a smirk. He couldn’t see their faces, but he was pretty sure he heard their breaths catch in their throats all at once and it just proved some unknown curiosity Mickey had of this guy’s mass murder skills: he totally had them.

But Mickey couldn’t be deterred. He had a massive problem on his hands. His dad was probably asleep or drunk off his ass and near the point of being passed out for the night, but he couldn’t count on that. How the fuck was he supposed to track this guy down without having to converse with his dad about it.

He pulled out the phone he’d stolen off some poor kid a week ago and texted his sister Mandy.

_Mickey: Dad home?_

Mickey waited a few minutes, chancing a glance at the red head and he was sure a pair of baggy gym shorts have never done as much for a guy as they were for him because he wasn’t supposed to look so sexy in them.

_Mandy: Nah, he left this morning to Wisconsin. Had a few runs to make._

Mickey gave a heavy sigh of relief. He’d have a few days to settle things before his dad would be able to find out.

_Mandy: y? Whassup?_

He rolled his eyes and sighed again, this time annoyed.

_Mickey: don’t be a nosey bitch mind ur own damn business_

_Mandy: suck a dick asshole_

Mickey didn’t reply; he may have had time but he had to think. How the fuck was he supposed to catch this guy? Maybe his dad had the guy’s information down- probably on his phone, though. Maybe the cops caught up to the guy- but then Mickey’d be in deep shit. He banged his head against the wall, already running out of options.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Mickey heard someone ask. The voice was husky, and it caught him by surprise, but he didn’t jump- he just opened his eyes to find the too-hot red head leaning against the window shield wall, hand gripping the long silver pole connected to its edge.

Mickey hadn’t had much to reply with, but when the train jerked and the guy’s biceps clenched in trying to keep his balance, he’d lost all thought then. “What?”

The red head used his free hand to motion to his face. “There’s a lotta emotion goin’ on in your face. You must be havin’ a real battle with yourself.” He shrugged, considering another option. “Or maybe you’re just crazy.”

Mickey wanted to say “fuck off” but the last part of his statement had him laugh out a bit. “Look who’s talkin’,” Mickey said, eyeing him as if _he_ wasn’t the crazy one here. Mickey Milkovich just oozed danger- this guy must’ve had a death wish or something.

The guy shrugged again with indifference. “So you gonna tell me what’s warrin’ you?”

Mickey scoffed. “I don’t think it’s any of your fuckin’ business,” he snapped; and he’d meant it, but he could tell his words hadn’t held as much conviction as they could have.

Mickey could feel his skin burn under the freckle face’s obvious full-body inspection. What the fuck was he doing? “You don’t know, dude. I might have a solution to your problem. And I heard it’s good to vent to strangers- they don’t judge.”

Mickey snorted. “That has to be three shades of bullshit!”

“Well, try me then.”

Mickey bit his lip, hearing a double meaning that probably wasn’t there but fuck he heard it so…fuck. “You a cop?”

“Do I fuckin’ look like a cop to you?”

Mickey leaned forward a bit and the red head followed, guessing that whatever Mickey was about to say wasn’t something everyone should be hearing. “My dad let me go on a drug deal by myself and I fucked up; cops came and I couldn’t get the money.”

Red head nodded with a look of true concern on his face. He stood straight up again, looking off as if he was really thinking about the problem at hand. “I’m gonna take a stab and say you don’t know fuckall about the client, right?” When Mickey responded with an eyebrow raise, he continued his silent inquiry.

The next stop came and he still hadn’t said anything. The group of girls got off, glancing over at the red head who gave them a smile and nod as a salute. They were completely alone on the cart now.

“What kinda drugs?” the guy asked after the doors closed.

“Coke.” When he nodded once more, Mickey rolled his eyes, getting impatient. “You got a solution or not?”

“Gimme one fucking second, aight?” Mickey smiled a bit at the red head’s comeback; how was it that obvious dominance and the willingness to stand ground had been so sexy? “Do you sell weed?”

“Huh?”

“Pretty simple question. Sure you know how to fuckin’ answer it.”

“Yeah, what’s it to you? Lookin’ to buy?”

He shrugged again, and Mickey wasn’t sure if by this point the action irked him more or made this more humorous. “Maybe. Hmmm…” he hummed, licking his lips then proceeding to bite down as if he was in full concentration mode now. It wasn’t until he spoke again that Mickey noticed that he’d been staring too intently. “Rob a few stores until you make enough or steal some shit and sell it off- probably both. Coke is serious shit. Hand that over and then find this guy whenever you can. Beat the money out of him and keep it for yourself.” He ended with a smile, feeling proud in his answer.

Mickey stared back, feeling some mix of stupidity and astonishment. “That’s…actually really good answer.”

“Told you that stranger shit is true.”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, still not true. Strangers are the first to judge. It’s the people that know you that actually open up and shit.”

The red head gave a slow nod before inching a bit closer. “I’m Ian.”

Somehow the name fit, but he wasn’t going to show that much interest. “And why the fuck do I give a shit?”

He did it again, the obvious check out with his eyes and Mickey fought back a grin because this guy was obviously flirting with him. “First step to not be a stranger is know their name.”

Mickey snorted, feeling uncomfortable and completely at ease at once. It was a feeling he wasn’t sure he liked. “Ok, Firecrotch, I’ll keep that in mind never again.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Firecrotch?”

“That’s your natural hair color, right?”

Ian’s voice lowered as if the train was full of people, and he wanted to make sure the next statement was for Mickey’s ears only. “You wanna find out?”

Mickey could feel himself twitch, and he checked his surroundings on impulse. This wasn’t juvie and Mickey was sure Ian wasn’t packing a bottom’s skill in those shorts.

 _This is Kedzi,_ the robotic voice of the train sounded off.

Mickey shot up, bumping into Ian and feeling the slowly drying dampness of his chest. “This is my stop,” he muttered, his eyes focused more on Ian’s lips and how they slid from between his teeth.

Ian gave a slow smile, hitching his chin up as he looked down at the shorter, dark haired man. “Mine, too.”

They both exited, and Ian took in a deep breath of the cooling summer air as the sun began to set. They walked down the steps to the main floor in silence. Once they were on the street, Mickey scratched his nose and kept his eyes on everywhere as he talked to Ian. “So, uh, you serious about the deal?”

It took Ian a moment to remember the drug situation. He nodded. “Runnin’ low on weed, man.”

“I could get you that, man. Anything you wanted.” He snuck a glance at Ian, eyes suggestive in the second they met.

Ian’s head fell as he smiled, arms folded and muscles taut. “Never did get your name.”

Mickey was silent. He knew his name could ruin whatever type of moment they were having as they watched the cars pass by with their windows down and the bass booming to the obnoxious rap music. “It’s Mickey.”

Ian smirked. Somehow, it fit. “Alright, _Mick,_ ” he saluted. “See you around, then?”

“Yeah, whatever; see ya.” He had to get away quickly. He started walking in the direction of his house. He turned back to see Ian walking in the opposite direction. Seriously, no one should look that hot in shorts.

But he had to put his action into plan. He needed to get this money before his dad came home and beat his ass 6 ft underground. Ian suggested robbing a store-lucky for Mickey, he knew an easy target: Kash&Grab.


End file.
